


Purge My Heart of You

by ObsoleteAdjectives



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anorexia, Bulimia, Creature Fic, Eating Disorders, Love Confessions, M/M, Mates, Mental Anguish, Self-Harm, Soulmates, Triggers, Veela, Veela Draco Malfoy, Veela Inheritance, Veela!Draco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 05:56:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8957116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObsoleteAdjectives/pseuds/ObsoleteAdjectives
Summary: Five months ago, Draco found out about his Veela heritage, and broke up with Harry to go be with his supposed mate. Days drag on torturously for an unhappy Harry, until he runs into Draco, who claims to be looking for his mate. The truth can't be hidden for long. In time, Harry finds out that there were dangerous, more sinister reasons behind their separation that he wasn’t aware of.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I began outlining this story two years ago on a sad day, but I left it alone for a while. I was too scared to touch something so raw. But I finally mustered the courage to pull it together and to post it here tonight.
> 
> This work, in no way, is attempting to romanticize anorexia nervosa, bulimia, depression, or self-harm. These are serious conditions and must not be taken lightly. If you or anyone you know might be suffering from these, contact the nearest emergency services and get help. If left unacknowledged, it could lead to permanent harm or even death. 
> 
> Take care of yourselves. I love you all for reading this. This work is currently un-beta'd, so the mistakes are all mine.
> 
> Thank you.

Harry is panting harshly as he steps off the treadmill. He tosses his damp towel over his shoulder and takes a swig of water from his bottle, trying to calm his heart rate. He numbly makes his way to the cycling machines, but nearly collides with a broad chest unexpectedly. Harry tilts his head up, cursing the height difference almost subconsciously, and meets Brad’s eyes. Brad, a Muggle, is known to frequent the gym. He and Harry have exchanged pleasantries in the past, but that has been the extent of their relationship in the past few weeks that Harry has begun exercising at Flex Gym, the Muggle gym close to Harry’s apartment.

“Hey, man!” Brad says in a friendly-but-slightly-concerned voice – a tone that Harry is now overly familiar with. “You’ve been here all day and you just did – what, an hour – of cardio? Don’t sweat it. Here, have my granola bar; you’ve earned it.”

Harry manages a smile. “Thanks, Brad, but I’m not hungry.”

 _Haven’t been hungry for a while now,_ Harry refrains from saying _._

Brad shrugs nonchalantly and thrusts a granola bar into Harry’s hand as he unwraps his own. “Don’t you think your strength training is going overboard? Why not cut down on it for a bit?”

He takes a giant chomp of his bar, wolfing half of it down in one swallow. Harry’s stomach turns in disgust, but he understands social conventions. He forces himself to unwrap his own bar, and nibbles on it hesitantly.

Harry shrugs noncommittally at Brad’s remarks. Unfazed, Brad continues, “Who are you trying to beat up, anyway? Andre the Giant?”

Harry gives a false, hollow laugh, and waits for the interaction to be over. His blood thrums in his veins and he feels a sick feeling crawling over his back. The granola bar – and the unexpected interaction – has unsettled him.

“You’re right,” Harry says quickly, trying to sweet talk his way out of the discussion. “I need a restroom break anyway. Thanks, man.” Harry holds up the granola bar to gesture to the object of – faked – gratitude.

“No problem, champ,” Brad says with an easy laugh. He looks slightly relieved to see Harry eating. “I’m going to head on to the weights if you want to join me later.”

Harry tilts his head ambiguously and gives a small smile before hurrying out of the door and down the hall to the men’s restroom.

 _Thank Merlin for Muggle gyms,_ he thinks viciously as he slams the stall door shut.

“ _Silencio. Obscuro vera,”_ Harry whispers swiftly at the stall door before dropping to his knees in front of the toilet seat.

He’s almost too dazed to consciously direct his movements. There is only one thought in his mind:

_Purgepurgepurgepurgepurge._

Minutes later, he’s aware of his raw throat and empty stomach. He quickly flushes away the evidence, not wanting to think too much. Hurriedly, Harry cancels the silencing and obscuring charms. Minutes later, he has gathered himself, and washes his hands in blisteringly hot water as if he’s trying to scrub away all tactile memory.

Harry is less than three metres away from the gym’s exit when he sees a sight that stops him in his tracks. A vision in white, with flowing white-blond hair, is stood in the middle of the road, looking at Harry dead in the eye.

“ _Draco?_ What are you doing here? _”_ Harry chokes out, surprised to see him there. He hesitates momentarily but forces through with his next question before Draco can reply. “Where’s your _mate?”_

Harry does his best not to spit the word out like poison, but he’s not sure he has succeeded.

Draco strides forward. He is standing not two feet from Harry in a matter of seconds. He moves with exquisite, unnatural grace. Harry guesses it is probably due to his Veela nature.

He cocks his head to the side to look at Harry with startlingly grey eyes. “I was just looking for him, actually.”

“Outside a _Muggle gym_?” Harry asks incredulously. He fidgets and tries not to look down at his shirt, sweat-stained as it is. He has always been scrawny, but he’s glad to have some muscle to show for it now. He hadn’t had as much when he’d been an Auror … but that was a matter he had sworn to forget about five months ago. He wasn’t about to go down memory lane now.

Draco doesn’t say anything in response. Harry suddenly wonders if Draco, with his sweeping eyes and searching looks, could tell that he hadn’t eaten well in five months. Had, in fact, stopped eating completely two weeks ago. Harry purged whatever he ate in front of others. He didn’t like to do it often - it hurt and it was a messy affair; it was easier to just not be around anyone so that no-one could force him to eat.

“You look-“ Draco begins to say, but is cut off harshly by Harry.

“-like I’ve spent the entire day at the gym; I know. Because I have,” Harry says. He is trying too hard to sound casual.

Draco’s mouth tightens in response. He had always been able to read Harry like an open book. Draco had known what got under Harry’s skin, had known how to push just the right buttons, had known how to _get him to moan._

Harry tries very hard to forget it. He knows he doesn’t have a chance with Draco, who, being a Veela, had found his mate five months ago. In Harry’s memory, Blake is a handsome, brown-haired and blue-eyed pureblood, and he and Draco appear to be a match made in heaven. Just as Harry can’t erase his memories of being with Draco once upon a time, he can’t shake off the inadequacy that he had begun to feel when he had first seen how lovesick Draco had looked, gazing dolefully at his new-found mate.

Now, Harry looks at the man who he had loved – and still loves, if he’s being honest with himself – and wants nothing but to run away. He wants to hide his scars, the aftermath of what had happened five months ago.

“Goodbye, Draco,” Harry mumbles and, uncaring of who may be watching, Disapparates on the spot.

Five months ago, Harry had wished the couple all the happiness in the world.

As he stumbles into his house, he wishes he hadn’t always been so self-sacrificing.

 

* * *

Harry’s not quite sure how it happens. He hadn’t eaten anything, but he had felt so jittery that he’d wanted to cleanse himself anyway. Rationally, he had known there was nothing left to get rid of. But, now, as he bends over the toilet seat in the privacy of his own home, the irrational side wins.

Harry retches.

And retches.

And can’t stop.

 

* * *

_Oh Merlin, so much blood._

_The blood just won’t stop coming._

_Bloodbloodblood – red as ruby gleaming on the toilet in front of him._

_His vision blurs, his throat aches and his stomach heaves again. Harry lurches, sick and blood spewing from his lips all over the toilet. He blacks out from the pain._ “

 

* * *

 

“Harry!”

Harry opens his eyes blearily, wincing at the bright light. He panics for a split second but then processes the familiarity of the room – he’s still in his home. He’s in his bed, and there’s someone sitting next to him.

Draco bends over the bed from his position in the chair, clutching Harry’s right hand tightly. In his other hand he holds cyan-coloured liquid in a vial. Harry doesn’t have time to register much else before Draco starts yelling.

“You fucking asshole,” Draco says angrily. How dare you? How dare you be so selfish?”

It takes a moment for Harry to understand. He pieces together bits of his memory to guess that Draco had seen him retching blood. Hastily, he tries to protect his secret. No-one had found out – Harry had been so careful. He couldn’t let Draco know.

“I wasn’t doing anything; I just have food poisoning.” Harry, in his weakened state, is unable to come up with a better excuse. He cringes at how unsure he sounds.

“Food poisoning, my fucking arse. You- Harry, you-” Draco growls deep in his throat. His eyes glow like stars in his rage. “Drink this before you do yourself more harm.”

Harry tilts his head to look at the vial in Draco’s other hand, purposefully ignoring the hand that is holding his own. “What is it?”

“It’s a healing potion; why, don’t trust me to not poison you?” Draco looks almost offended. His hair gleams in the fading sunlight.

Harry shakes his head. “That’s not what I-” he tries to croak out but his throat hurts too much so he stays mum. For a moment, he gives into his exhaustion.

As Harry reaches for the glass, his shirt sleeve rides up slightly. Draco’s eyes immediately flit to the muted red gashes on his exposed skin. Draco doesn’t waste a second before pulling up Harry’s other sleeve as well. Harry tries to struggle against it but one of his hands is trapped in Draco’s, and he’s just too weak to move much, anyway.

Bit by bit, inch by inch, Draco’s movements reveal Harry’s skin, which is littered with scars – some are pale pink, others are white. The newest ones range from a violent red to a slightly faded vermillion. Harry’s heart thuds erratically in his chest. He can’t meet Draco’s eyes. He focuses on Draco’s shoulders which are hunched – Draco’s grip is tight on his hand.  

“What is this?” Draco asks quietly. His voice is tightly controlled, but shakes at the edge as if he’s holding back a flood of emotion from colouring his tone.

Harry tries to flounder for a believable excuse, but comes up lacking. “Nothing. I’m just clumsy,” he manages through his exhaustion.

“A clumsy Auror,” Draco says sarcastically, an absence of mirth in his tone. “Does the Ministry know?”

Harry shakes his head again, trying to clear the cloudiness. His body feels empty. He’s so _tired._ “I’m not an Auror anymore,” he says softly. Harry’s head is spinning – maybe that’s why he’s sharing things so easily. But he doesn’t want to share. He doesn’t want the pity it will bring.

The confession seems to have stopped Draco short. He looks aghast as he asks, “What? When did you leave the Auror force?”

Harry doesn’t have much energy left; sleep is calling to him and his eyelids are too heavy to keep open. But he manages to whisper one last thing before succumbing to slumber. “Five months ago,” he says simply. Harry’s not sure Draco hears. Or cares.

 

* * *

When Harry wakes next, it is dark outside and he can see the stars from his open window. He shivers as he carefully slips out of his bed, half unsure if he had dreamt the entire day up. But his sleeves are pushed up to his elbows – something he would never allow – and there’s a glass vial on his nightstand. It is proof that Harry had seen Draco that day. For the first time in five months. And Draco had seen how weak Harry was.

Harry stumbles downstairs, hoping beyond hope that Draco is no longer in his home. Harry doesn’t think he can deal with having Draco around. He loves Draco, and so he wants to avoid all situations in which it is clear that Draco is not in love with Harry.

Harry stops short when he hears the clink of utensils in his kitchen. He’s almost too afraid to cross the threshold, but he does with hesitant steps. Harry isn’t used to backing away from things that scare him. Even in his worst moments, Harry clings fiercely to his pride.

Draco swivels around before Harry has even taken one step into the kitchen. “You’re awake,” he says. His eyes are unreadable in the dim light – Harry isn’t sure if he sees relief, anger, or disgust. Perhaps it’s a mix of all three. Perhaps there is nothing there and Harry’s reading too much into Draco’s actions. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s done it.

Harry nods cautiously as he walks to the counter. There are dishes piled onto it. Pots bubble with food on the stove. Harry can’t believe his eyes, but Draco seems to have made food for an army.

“What are you doing?” Harry asks.

Draco rolls his eyes theatrically, but his body is tensing for a fight. “I’m making food. Which you will eat.”

“No, I fucking won’t.” Harry can’t believe the nerve of Draco, barging into Harry’s house, ordering him around, questioning his life as if he had any right after what happened five months ago.

“Yes, you fucking will, Potter. It’s not a request.” Draco’s voice is tight, unable to hide his anger.

“What makes you think that, huh?” Harry challenges, crossing his arms over his chest as he does. Surreptitiously, he makes sure his sleeves haven’t raised above his wrists.

The movement of his eyes does not escape Draco’s notice. This appears to be the last straw. Draco lets go of the ladle he’d been holding, which clangs on the floor and spills creamy liquid all over the wood. The air thrums with electricity, and Harry feels goosebumps rise on his arms.

“You’re skin and bones, Potter!” Draco shouts, seemingly unable to help himself. “Have you looked in the mirror recently? You look like somebody died! Fuck you, Potter. Fuck you a million times over. There are so many people who gave their lives for you – to keep you safe and make sure you had a happy, healthy life – and you’re wasting away!”

Harry feels his temper rise. He yells back just as fiercely, “Fuck _you_ , Draco! You have no right to come barging into my life after five months, demanding shit! You don’t know how hard it’s been! You don’t know what it’s been like! And let me tell you something – those people didn’t give their lives for me, they gave it for the war effort. The sooner you realise I’m a nonentity, the better. Just fuck off, okay? Why are you here anyway?”

Draco isn’t affected by Harry’s questioning. He barges on, “You’re fucking suicidal, Harry! Don’t you think I’ve realised? You don’t eat, and whatever you do, you upchuck it. You have scars and cuts which aren’t healed, maybe because you never bothered to learn the spells but I fucking doubt that because you were in a war. So I guess you keep them like that because you like the pain and that is so fucking scary. You don’t talk to your Weasels anymore. You don’t go out unless it’s to burn the calories you can’t afford to lose at the gym. You’re fucking wasting away, Potter!”

Harry’s mouth falls open. “Have you been,” he enunciates his words slowly, trying to understand, “following me? How long?”

Draco stays tight-lipped. He stares uncompromisingly ahead. The fight seems to go out of Harry. Every word out of Draco’s mouth is a punch. His heart aches with the need to tell him that he loves him – and to hear it back. Can’t Draco see what he’s doing to him? What he’s always done to him? Draco wants answers Harry can’t afford to give. So he seeks them instead.

“Why are you here, Draco?” he asks again.

Draco suddenly can’t meet Harry’s eyes. “I’ve already told you. Why are you asking? Don’t think you can change subjects on me.”

Harry’s mind goes back to his conversation with Draco in front of Flex Gym. “I think maybe it’s time you went, Draco. You have a mate to look for. And he’s obviously not here.”

Without a sound, Harry strides to his front door, and opens it. A biting wind creeps in and Harry fights not to shiver. Harry meets Draco’s eyes, and gestures at the door pointedly. In this moment, he can’t speak, can’t move any more than that. He bites his lip to keep from whimpering in pain. He wants to cry, wants his razors – he wants the physical pain to take him away from his burning mind.

Draco stomps towards the door. He stops in front of Harry momentarily. Harry doesn’t look up – he can’t bear to have Draco see his need to cry raging inside of him. “I’ll just go then, shall I?”

Harry doesn’t move or make a sound. A moment later, Draco is gone in a hot breeze that sends shivers up Harry’s spine; it’s like Harry can feel all the indignation and anger that simmers under Draco’s skin in that moment. Maybe a bit of hurt, but Harry reconsiders; Draco doesn’t have anything to be hurt about. Harry can’t hurt him. Not anymore – not since Draco found his mate.

Tired and unable to muster the ability care about the state of his kitchen, Harry trudges upstairs to his bed. His room smells faintly of Draco. Harry’s not sure whether he should be sad or happy about it. He doesn’t _Scourgify_ the smell away, though. His heart’s not in it.

 

* * *

“Oh, _Harry._ ”

Harry wakes to an unwelcome guest. He recognizes the voice instantly, though, and puts his wand away as he sits up in bed.

“Hermione,” Harry says hoarsely as he takes in the sight of his very-pregnant friend. “How did you get in?”

“Harry?” Hermione says worriedly. “Don’t you remember letting Ron, Draco, and me a special key through your Floo? We can come in without knocking for emergencies.”

Harry’s thoughts are muddled but he faintly recognizes what Hermione is talking about. He had completely forgotten to reset the charm – he hadn’t needed to because no-one ever visited him anymore.

“This is an emergency?” Harry asks, trying not to sounds sarcastic.

Hermione bites her lip, looking a bit guilty. “Well, I can’t really say. I was contacted by someone about … well, you, Harry. You’re not doing well. And I just wanted to get to the base of it, what with all the time that I have on maternity leave. It’s just … Harry, I know what’s wrong.”

Stomping down on the urge to roll his eyes, Harry mutters, “Nothing’s wrong, except for the invasion of my privacy.”

Hermione’s eyes flash dangerously. “Yeah? And what do you call your bulimia? The self-harm? The fact that you are suffering from anorexia nervosa? Is that all just _fine_ then? You’re lucky I haven’t told Ron or the other Weasley’s. Can you imagine what this would do to them? You’re not okay, Harry, and I’m sorry we let this go on for so long. But you can’t lie to yourself anymore. ”

Harry climbs out of bed, hoping that Hermione gets the message: he isn’t interested in talking.

“You can run all you want, Harry, but I’ve got answers and you need to hear them!” Hermione says decidedly as she follows Harry downstairs.

Harry walks to the kitchen without meaning to and comes to a halt as he takes in the mountains of food on his table and countertop. As he suppresses a shiver up his spine, he can’t help but feel a strange warmth in his heart. Draco had made _him_ food. In _his_ home. To care for _him._ Not for Blake.

Hermione looks at Harry questioningly when she sees the state of the kitchen. Harry shrugs, not answering. He silently Vanishes all the food, knowing he wouldn’t eat it anyway. Hermione magically puts all the dishes away. The ladle that had fallen to the ground the previous evening zooms into its place, and Harry has to consciously stops himself from regretting getting rid of Draco’s hard work. The evidence of his care.

Harry shrugs off his ideas disgustedly. He knows Draco is in love with another man. And making food for a sick acquaintance – because that’s all they were to each other – did not count as anything apart from being nice. Nosey, but nice.

“Will you eat something?” Hermione asks quietly.

Harry stares at her blankly and sits at the countertop. Ignoring her question, he says, “What do you know?”

Hermione sighs heavily. She knows she has to pick her battles carefully. “It’s about Veelas.”

Harry visibly recoils. “What does that have to do with me?”

“Just listen,” Hermione says patiently. “I don’t know how much you know about Veelas and their mates, but the Veela and the mate have a relationship of convenience, mainly. Without the other, they are susceptible to harm, but each in their own areas. The Veela is the physical or the so-called ‘male’ counterpart in the relationship. After the consummation of the bond, he or she finds their magic weakening in the absence of their mate – conversely, the need to protect their mate allows them to tap into special Veela magic of untold proportions. The mate, on the other hand, is the emotional and mental or the so-called ‘female’ counterpart in the relationship. He or she, in the absence of their Veela, will feel depressed or moody easily. Sometimes, in extreme cases of separation, after the claiming has taken place and the mate is unable to be in the presence of their Veela, they may feel immense mental pain. This may manifest in physical weakness or other depressive symptoms. It is essential that the pair is in the vicinity of each other in the thirty days after the claiming has taken place. The last ten days are imperative and allow for the bond to fully settle so that the effects of separation are lessened.”

“Merlin, Hermione, you sound like a textbook,” Harry says irritably. “What’s your point?”

Hermione takes a deep breath, readying herself. “That’s why you’ve been so sad lately, Harry. It explains why you’ve done the things you have. Draco thought he found his mate after two weeks of being with you.”

“We didn’t plan on being together for even that long, but didn’t want it to be meaningless,” Harry whispers, hunching over the countertop. “The first night was just for fun but we both decided we wanted to try. I loved him, you know. Even then I was sure of it. I’d loved him for a long time but I hadn’t seen it until we’d started-” Harry can’t speak anymore for fear of the lump in his throat allowing tears to flow down his cheeks. “I don’t understand. He found his mate. It makes no sense for me to be affected so much. Maybe I’m just weak, Hermione.”

Harry lifts his head to look at Hermione shaking her head furiously. She thinks he’s wrong. He’s overtaken by a vengeful need to make her understand the brutality of it. “He came home one night. He was late; said he’d had to stay back and finish a report. I don’t know why he seemed to think I’d be fooled – I knew what went around in the Ministry. Everyone made sure to keep me up to date on what he did even though I didn’t want to know. They felt they had to warn me. I know he left early that day. The next day, we went to the Ministry party together. I caught him mooning over Blake. I didn’t think much of it – I tried not to, at least.”

Harry pauses, collecting himself. “I came home the next day to them sitting on the couch together, holding hands. Draco told me about his heritage and that he’d found his mate. I didn’t say anything – I couldn’t.”

Hermione gasped, a tear slipping down her cheek. “You never told me all this.”

“I didn’t want to worry you. I didn’t want you to pity me for having had my heart broken. My point is that I’m not his mate. It’s Blake, but Draco wouldn’t have been mistaken – I’m sure of it.” Harry doesn’t want to speak the next words out-loud, but he knows he needs to in order to make Hermione understand. “He doesn’t love me. If he did, he would have told me by now.”

“Harry, Draco loves you. And he knows now that you’re his mate. He hasn’t told you yet because he’s afraid you don’t love him anymore – that he’s caused you too much pain. He’s afraid you won’t take him back. That’s why you’re in pain – because you consummated the bond, but didn’t stay in each other’s vicinity for the next month. How could you have? Draco had no idea he had Veela heritage. And by the time he found out, it was too late, because he had been fooled by Blake.”

Harry pushes away from the countertop and turns away. He isn’t sure his heart can take any more hope, just to be chopped to pieces in the next moment.

“I don’t think I can believe you, Hermione. I don’t think you can fool Veela into forgetting who their mate is.”

Hermione sighs and walks to Harry. She puts a hand on Harry’s shoulder and says softly, “Blake’s family was a Voldemort-sympathizer. He blames the Malfoys for his family’s demise in the War. When he found out Draco had Veela heritage, he slipped him a potion to confuse his senses. Blake wanted to exploit Draco’s power and torture him, so he kidnapped him. Draco found out from his weakening powers that something was off. He was lucky enough to escape a few weeks ago, and he’s been on the run since.”

Harry feels a tear slip down his cheek, and he aches for his love’s plight. “How do you know this all?”

“Draco came to our house last night,” Hermione says boldly. Harry is unsure if he is even surprised at this point. “He was panicked. He told us all that he’d noted about you in the past week, and how you refused to let him help you. Harry, Draco needs to be around you. And you need to be around him. It’s the only thing that can make you two better.”

“He told me he was looking for his mate, Hermione. I’m sorry, but I think you’re seeing things that aren’t there. I know you want me to be happy. But being with me isn’t going to make Draco happy – he doesn’t love me.” Harry wants to clutch at his heart. His chest hurts. He exhales heavily. “Thanks for coming to see me, but you should leave now.”

“Harry,” Hermione says beseechingly, but Harry has already disappeared upstairs. He locks his room and waits to hear the roar of the Floo as Hermione leaves.

 

* * *

Harry is staring blankly out of his bedroom window, trying to block out his thoughts, when a shouted curse catches his attention. Unaccustomed to hearing wizards in his all-Muggle neighbourhood (he had confirmed the fact in his days of being an Auror), Harry rushes down to the front door and bursts into the street.

The sight shocks him – Draco and Blake are standing on the two ends of the street, wands pointed at each other. Blake, statuesque and handsome, whips his head around at the noise Harry makes as he rushes out. His eyes widen perceptibly, and a look of sheer panic flashes across his face as he seems to realize something. Harry sees him turning to Disapparate before he can even raise his wand. In a stroke of insight, Harry understands what is going on.

“ _Stupefy!_ Come back here you coward and fight me!” Draco’s voice rings hollowly in the darkness. But Blake had already Disapparated with a sharp _crack!_ Impossibly, a pink light shoots out from where Blake has disappeared, and in an instant, Harry is staring at an empty street save for Draco Malfoy, lying unconscious on the hard asphalt.

Harry doesn’t have even a moment to second-guess what he’s doing; he casts a Levitation charm on Draco to get him inside the house. Harry is surprised that his magic is cooperating. In his experience, it has been unreliable in the past few weeks – so much so that Harry had stopped trying to use his magic much. Minutes later Draco is lying supine on Harry’s white sheets, his hair fanned out under him, his eyes closed, and his mouth puckered.

Harry thinks Draco looks quite like an angel. He’s devastatingly beautiful.

The cracks in Harry’s heart seem to expand, threatening to destroy any semblance of sanity that he has left. Tears prick his eyes and Harry blinks to keep them at bay. He needs to focus on the task at hand.

He tries every healing spell he had learnt in Auror training, and then every healing spell that Hermione had taught him in the War. Nothing helps. Draco lies unmoving, his breathing deep and even. It’s almost as if he is sleeping and will wake up any second.

“Draco,” Harry whispers, at his wit’s end, “please wake up.”

Draco doesn’t respond. Dejected, Harry makes to move away from the side of the bed, but a soft whimper escapes Draco. His fingers twitch almost imperceptibly towards Harry.

Biting his lip, Harry carefully reaches across the bed to lay his hands on Draco’s. Draco let out a soft croon, his eyes still closed. His body appears to curl in Harry’s direction. Feeling helpless to resist the lure of Draco’s warmth, Harry slowly climbs into the bed.

He positions himself next to Draco, still holding one of Draco’s hands – except, now he clutches Draco’s hand close to his heart. It’s instinctual – the need to reassure Draco that he’s alive and here. Harry eases out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. The panic in him seems to seep away the longer he stays in Draco’s proximity.

Harry closes his eyes against his will. He is soon asleep, a faint golden light dancing behind his closed eyelids.

 

* * *

 

“ _Harry.”_

For the third time in a short while, Harry wakes to the sound of someone calling his name. He opens his eyes to see Draco lying in front of him. Both their hands are joined, and they are pressed close together. A faint golden glow emanates from their bodies – so light that one could miss it.

“Harry, love,” Draco pleads. Never before had Harry heard so much anguish lace Draco’s voice. “I’m sorry. I’m so very, very sorry. I- I didn’t know. I didn’t know anything – at least not everything till last night when Blake finally caught up with me. I’m the reason you’re hurting, Harry. I never meant to cause you any harm. Please-”

Harry feels a warmth blooming in his chest, spreading to his extremities. He feels alive like he never has before. Draco’s absence had left him dark, cold, and alone. But now, it’s as if the sun has come out.

“I love you,” a whisper lilts in the air.

And for the first time, it doesn’t matter to Harry who has spoken the words because they light up Harry’s insides with the sweetest happiness. His body relaxes, his mind stops racing, and he feels it in his very magical core that everything is right in the world.

“He’ll be back.”

“We’ll take care of it. Together.”

More whispers of assurance, of love, of apologies.

The truth, which had remained buried for so long, is now in the air and it rings inside the two of them with much intensity.

They don’t consciously notice as they draw closer together, and their tongues entwine in a sweet kiss. Suddenly, the two seem to know the peace that had evaded them for so long.

There are things still left waiting to be said. Harry is still hurting, and Draco is secretly afraid he will never be able to wrench the venomous grip of melancholy from Harry’s soul. But, right now, it isn’t of importance.

Two souls have come together after too long a time. Explanations can wait, decisions can be made later.

Right now, cocooned in Draco’s arms, lips wet and his heart warm from their kiss, Harry doesn’t want anything more. 

He feels _hope._

 


End file.
